(This is a photograph of the area where I watched the sunset. I sat atop the crossbeam of the play set to the right and the sun set directly behind the wooded area to the left. This setup is facing roughly North West.)
8:25 pm
Yesterday I completed my journal as I watched the sunset through the trees in my side yard. I enjoyed the quiet and clear night from atop a weathered play set that probably hasn’t been used since I graduated elementary school. From my outpost I could see the clear line where my neatly trimmed lawn turned into the rolling grass of the meadow. This uncut expanse separates my yard from the forest and is a frequent location for whitetail deer, wild turkey, and the neighborhood cats that visit our house. Last night, the weather was extremely clear with no clouds in sight and minimal wind. The temperature was around 54 degrees but was cooling as the sun set. As I lounged on the soft and slightly mossy two-by-four of the play set, I noticed how the weather and temperature, in combination with the dim yet warm light of the sun, created an unmistakable calming effect. I began to notice the birds, singing their last songs of the day. The droves of spring peepers that inhabit the several ponds of my neighborhood were silent, possibly caused by recent cold nights or incoming foul weather. Either way they forfeited their place as the night’s primary performers and their hypnotizing droning was replaced with the sharp and melodic calls of the birds. Called to attention by these songs, I began listening more closely and I think I picked out 3-5 different tunes that I hope to identify in the future. Thinking back to my morning run, I made the realization that during the middle of the day, the collective noise from the birds followed a livelier and more playful tempo; it seemed as if every bird was trying to make their call heard above the others and this caused them to blur into a single sweet noise. As I listened carefully however, the bird songs sounded much different during dusk. While the calls never changed pitch or volume, the evening stage was reserved for only the boldest performers. The evening songs followed a rhythm that isolated and contrasted each song with an echoing silence. This new tempo allowed me to savor each call individually and I felt as if each bird sang in hopes of producing the last song of the night. By now the sun was indistinguishable against the horizon yet its light still managed to illuminate the scenery. I used these fleeting moments to appreciate nature’s ability to provide such perfect beauty so close to civilization. The final rays of sunlight were dispersed in the forest and made it appear as if a warm orange mist existed to back-light the trees with a heavenly glow. The landscape grew colder as the sun receded and the birds finally concluded their performance until the following morning. Under the bright moon, the long grasses of the meadow created slim slivers of light that reminded me of the ocean at night.
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